


Iris

by GoThruTheStars



Series: Bullet Proof [1]
Category: Hockey RPF, Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Auston is stressed, Blood, Getting Together, Guilt, Heat Exhuastion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mitch lives in a constant state of confusion, Patrick Marleau is a good dad, Self-Esteem Issues, Swearing, Team as Family, Whump, Willy is meddling behind the scenes, boys being stupid, honestly Mo just wants to clonk their heads together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-15 20:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16070726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoThruTheStars/pseuds/GoThruTheStars
Summary: Auston didn't mean it. He really didn't - but he opened his mouth and the words came out anyway.And now Mitch is in the hospital because of it.Story of his fuckin life right there.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! Title and song are from the Goo Goo Dolls. Part two will be up soon!

_And I'd give up forever to touch you_

_'Cause I know that you feel me somehow_

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be_

_And I don't want to go home right now_

_And all I can taste is this moment_

_And all I can breathe is your life_

_And sooner or later it's over_

_I just don't wanna miss you tonight_

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's meant to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

 

  


\-------------------

“Back room.” Auston motions vaguely, causing Mitch to huff dramatically.

“Come with me?”

“No.”

“Pleeeaaseee cmon Aus I can’t go alone-“

“Jesus Mitch will you fuckin _grow up_?!” Austin snaps, voice low and angry. The entire locker room shuts up, (which means that they were all at least half listening to the argument in the first place) and Mitch can’t stop his face from crumpling.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, and then turns on a heel, not paying attention to Austin’s slightly guilty face.

“Mitch-“

“It’s whatever.” He shoots back, half shrugging a shoulder and walking as fast as he can from the burning stares of the locker room. It’s stupid, but it hurts, because he’s always- he’s always known, that maybe he acted too much like a kid, but he thought...he didn’t think that Auston thought he wasn’t- or that anyone else did, he just...he had hoped maybe Auston was okay with it. With him (Its been two years and Mitch hasn’t made him run yet, which he’s sort of proud of.) Mitch couldn’t change the way he was; he was loud and a nerd and definitely a little immature but he loved to smile and laugh about everything and he just couldn’t be quiet even when he wanted to. He _liked_ how he was, and he thought Auston did too.

“Back room.” He mumbles to himself, walking through the empty halls. “There’s like fifty back rooms.” He finds a spare office, a janitor's closet, another janitors closet, some glorified storage closets, and then something that looks like an empty equipment room.

“Fuckin bullshit.” He mutters moodily, he just needs some _tape_ is that too much to ask? Honestly he could’ve probably just stayed in the locker room, one of the guys would’ve eventually given him some, but he wanted- well he wanted to do something for himself, for once, and then of course he wanted to bug Auston so they could get it together, and he could chirp him and then Auston would punch him in the arm and Mitch would hit back and it would end with Auston giving Mitch a noogie while they both laughed and he doesn’t understand why Auston doesn’t _want_ that. Mitch’s thought process looks for the scenarios that lead to the happiest outcomes, the most laughter, the biggest smiles. It’s how he works. What makes him happy is making other people happy.

It’s not like he was running low on time. Pregame warmups in the gym didn’t start for at least another ten minutes.

There’s a door at the end of the hall. He yanks it open and steps in side, no lights coming on but the hallway light illuminates what looks like shelving. He fumbles along the wall, finds a light switch, and sure enough it’s like he’s in some dusty ass closet or something, but there’s a few big tanks and stuff and the air smells damp and stale. It’s fucking hot in there.

There’s several rolls of black tape on the highest shelf.

“Fuckin A!” He yells, happy with himself, except now he has to actually _get it_ and he steps inside, letting the door shut behind him.

There’s an audible click.

Mitch freezes, halfway to the shelves.

“No fuckin way.” Does he talk to himself too much? He feels like he does maybe, but when he slams his palm against the door and it doesn’t even rattle, talking to himself becomes the only form of comfort he has.

“Seriously?! Who the fuck even though this would be a door that needs locking like-“ He slams his shoulder against the door, and it’s like running into the boards. Except the boards rattle a bit. The glass even moves.

This door doesn’t.

“Shit.” He curses, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He’s been in here maybe thirty seconds, not even, and he’s already this hot.

It’ll be fine though, he can just call someone to come get him and-

He doesn’t have his phone.

The guys think he stormed out probably, but they don’t think he’d intentionally miss warm ups.

Right?

And then- where would they even look, the only reason he looked at this door was because it was the last one at the end of the hallway and he was frustrated, not because anyone had actually been in here recently.

And looking around at the shelves, there’s nothing, no wire, no crowbar or something he could use to try and break the lock (like he even knows how to do that).

Bonus points because it’s so hot in here. Those tanks- they must be water heaters or boilers or something because the heat in the room is stifling, and Mitch is wearing nothing but tech leggings, a t-shirt and a sweatshirt, the last of which he takes off.

Short story: he’s fucked.

Long story: he’s _very_ fucked, because the team has no idea where to fucking look and he has no idea how to get out of here and it’s hot and he didn’t drink enough today and what the fuck is he going to do?

—————

Auston knows, even as the words are leaving his mouth, that they’re a massive mistake he’s going to regret for the rest of his life.

Mitch’s face - the one that was smiling and happy and excited only seconds before - literally shatters, falling to something that Auston could only describe as pure hurt.

He leaves the room looking like Auston just kicked him as hard as he could in the stomach.

The locker room is silent. Not that people aren’t moving, just that they’re moving and not talking. And also glaring at Auston.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, and Mo is suddenly next to him, pulling his headphones out of his stall and very casually says, “You’re a real asshole, you know that?” And then leaves to go to the gym, as a clear indication of how he feels.

Auston doesn’t blame him. And yes, he is aware.

Mitch has been...off for the last few months. Not as happy, not as energetic. Not very Mitch. But there’d been little moments, like a ray of sunshine breaking through clouds, where Mitch would be _Mitch_ again, and before they tended to center around games.

So like today - there was the return of the very energetic ball of excitement, bouncing around the locker room, and it elevated the locker rooms atmosphere in the way that only Mitch can.

And then Auston went and did that.

So yeah, he’s aware that he’s an asshole.

He’s even more aware when fifteen minutes later everyone’s in the gym...except Mitch. And while it’s one thing to not want to talk to Auston, it’s another to skip out on team warm ups.

“Sooo...please don’t kill me here, but you do know where he went, right?” Willy is next to him, wincing as they do lunges.

“No.” Auston answers honestly, voice quiet. The room is tense, everyone very aware of their missing member, (everyone aware of the lack of a stupid pun, the giggling laugh, the _lightness_ that is Mitch).

“Well...what the fuck, then.” Will mutters back, and Auston can’t help but agree with the sentiment. He’s worried. He really needs to apologize, he was - he _is_ \- just stressed out, and he didn't mean the words, but this is _nothing like Mitch_. He Mitch have fought before and Mitch always showed up for the team. He never let it get in the way.

When they get done with warmups, and Mitch is still not there, his worry escalated to genuine fear and concern.

He goes to Patty first, finds him in the hallway outside the locker room.

“Look I know I fucked up okay, but I can’t find him and he left his phone here.” He blurts out before Pat can even say hi.

“Mitch probably just needs space.” Marleau answers back, disappointment in clear in his voice. Whether it’s directed at Mitch, or Auston, he doesn’t know. “Or he got lost. We’ll look around.”

And the not so funny thing is - they do. The entire team gets in on it, players actually looking fucking _everywhere_ and anywhere, jokes of “We lost Mitchy” fading away, and becoming actual truth. Auston even frantically checks the press box in case Mitch decided he just wasn’t going to play or something. And the searching had gone very quickly from ‘ _hes being an inconsiderate asshole this is his fucking team how could he’_ to ‘ _he might be hurt or kidnapped shit fuck we lost fuckin Mitch Marner what do we do’_.

Eventually they have to start getting ready for the game, and when they’re done changing Babs walks in to give them their pregame talk. The very first thing he notices is the lack of a Mitch to tell to settle down.

He looks around the room. The team shifts, and he finally raises an eyebrow.

“You really going to make me ask?”

“We don’t...we can’t find him.” Mo finally speaks up, worried, but forever the unofficial Captain, speaking for the team.

Babs eyebrows reach the ceiling.

“Run that by me again?” He responds instantly, eyes scanning the room like the team suddenly developed suicidal tendencies and decided to prank him, and Mitch is going to pop out from under a table laughing.

Auston wishes that were the case.

“We looked everywhere-“ Willy starts and Babs just pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, frustration clear.

“We aren’t joking!” Aus is quick to add. “He...he left before we did warmups in the gym and then he didn’t show up and I couldn’t find him and we looked everywhere we could think off.”

“No ones seen him either.” Marty adds, and maybe it’s the worried anger in Matt Martin’s voice that gets to Babcock, or the tense atmosphere that says they really aren’t playing a prank, but Mike believes them.

“You’re telling me you _lost_ Marner?!” He yells, when no one will meet his eyes. It’s a much different tone than that he normally yells at them. This isn’t a _We just lost in a stupid way_ yell, its a much, much more intense one,an emotionally charged yell that means Babcock is one a whole different level of mad.

Auston stares at the floor.

No one answers.

“Jesus fuck.” Babs curses, then turns around and storms out of the locker room.

Matts goes back to tying his skates, numb with the knowledge that they actually can’t find Mitch. That the entire team can’t find Mitch. That Mitch is going to scratched tonight because he’s just _not here_.

Because of him.

—————————

Mitch groans from his seated position on the floor, shoving his knuckles against his calf and digging them in before dragging them up and down the muscle. Cramps are bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. Seriously what’s the purpose of them?

Like being in an overheated room with no water and a ripping headache, missing his hockey game because of a stupid locked door isn’t enough, his legs just have to take turns cramping up.

He sighs in relief as the cramp dissipates under his administrations. He’s got no reference for time, but the walls shook with a loud roar maybe a few minutes before, so the Leafs have probably just taken to the ice.

Thirty minutes, he’s been in here. Forty at most. His head hurts, his muscles are firing at random, he’s so thirsty and he’s starting to get chills. Which, he’s sure the room hasn’t cooled down any, so that’s definitely a bad sign.

There’s another dull rise in the noise. Mitch wipes sweat from his forehead and huffs, looking up at the tape on the shelves.

Well, it’d be a shame to get stuck in here and _not_ come out with the tape.

He checks around, but there’s nothing, not even a bucket for him to stand on. He tugs at the shelves experimentally, and they seem pretty secure, even if they’re super hot from sitting in the room for god knows how long.

_Well...here goes nothing._ He thinks to himself and puts his weight on the first shelf. It creaks but doesn’t seem to give any indication of it falling. Mitch smiles to himself and steps up to the second one. Even if he comes out of this looking like a burnt lobster, at least he’ll be able to throw the tape at Auston.

“See Matts?” He says to thin air, reaching up and wrapping his hand around a thing of tape that probably been there for fuckin years but is tape nonetheless. “I can be an adult and get my own fuckin tape-“

There’s a sharp sound of metal snapping, and then a groan, and then Mitch is tumbling to the ground with the metal shelves raining on top of him. He screams in surprise, but aside from having some serious bruises he thinks he’s okay at first.

“Ow, fucking _fuck, why_ is the universe so _mean_....” He grouches, pushing the metal shelves off of him and groaning when he tries to sit up. Putting weight on his left wrist is a not so okay idea. There’s something wet dribbling down his right one, and he cringes thinking of whatever nasty liquid was on top of those shelves.

Until he lifts his right hand to investigate.

“Oh.” Mitch says dumbly, staring at his arm that’s got a long cut going from his pinky, across his palm, and then down his arm all the way to his elbow.

The cut that is bleeding pretty badly.

“Oh- oh shit, oh _shit-_ “ Mitch panics, shoving the shelves away and scrambling to the door, where his sweatshirt is. Stop the bleeding. That’s the main objective, stop the bleeding.

“Shit shit shit shit fuck shit _fuck-_ “ He gasps as he presses the dark blue Maple Leafs sweatshirt to his arm. The pain hits him at contact, making him hiss as fire seems to crawl up his arm.

“Oh god.” His voice is barely a croak, and he feels bile press at the back of his throat. He really can’t afford to throw up right now, but there’s a _lot_ of blood and he hasn’t been feeling good for a while, and after a few minutes of near hyperventilating he scrambles over to the corner of the room and vomits. It’s mostly water and Gatorade, whatever’s left in his stomach, and he gags on the smell of blood between dry heaves.

Whimpering, Mitch drags his body back over to the door. Using his left hand, he tries to wrap the sweatshirt around his arm as best as he can, and then ties the sleeves together at his elbow as tight as possible.

The bleeding seems to stop, or slow at least, but Mitch is left leaning against the door, exhausted and woozy.

Leaning his head back against the door, he cradles his arm to his chest, a roll of black tape pressed firmly in his left hand.

And no matter how much he’s angry at Auston, no matter how _stupid_ the reason he’s angry at him- at this moment, he’s still the person Mitch wants most.

———————

It’s maybe the slowest sixty minutes of hockey Auston have ever played in his entire life.

Every second feels like an hour, every shift seems elongated, every penalty and puck drop taking way to long. He doesn’t say a word, no matter how frustrating it gets, no matter how much he’s worried about Mitch. It’s his fault the game feels like this, he doesn’t get to complain.

After the first period, Babs somberly informs them that their security team hasn’t found Marns, and they’ve been much more active in the arena than normal. No one’s seen him, no ones heard him, it’s like he just dropped off the face of the earth.

During the second period, Auston comes off the ice and sits on the bench, and turns to his right to say something to Mitchy about the way the Avs defense is playing, but only gets an empty space between him and Mo.

Reilly must see the look of devastation on his face, because his cold demeanor thaws a little.

“We’ll find him Matts.” Morgan tells him, but Auston just stares out at the ice and hunches his shoulders. They haven’t found him so far. He’s not stupid. He knows the longer they go without finding him, the more likely they find him hurt or worse.

He knows that Mitch could’ve left- literally walked to his car and just gone - except that Security told Babs all the teams' cars were accounted for, that no one had left the garage, and besides, it wasn’t like him and Mitch really fought enough for that. There have been times that’s they’ve delved into literally screaming matches, said things much worse than _grow up_ to each other, and Mitch and Auston still stayed and played their hardest for the team. They never let it affect their hockey.

So Auston knows that something bad happened to him. Because Mitch would be mad at him, but he would never _ever_ miss a _game_.

It’s the end of the third and they’ve won, the arena screaming with pride and satisfaction, and it feels empty to Auston, because there’s no annoying voice screaming his ear off in a celly (a move he secretly enjoys, but fuck if he’d ever tell Marns that), there’s no teammates fondly patting him on the back, no _nice job’_ s being exchanged. The boys walk back in almost near silence, and the locker room is tense like they just got knocked out of a playoff run.

Before they do media the PR team explains to them the cover story at the moment- to stay away from talking about Mitch as much as possible, and if asked about it, just say that they don’t know. Like management is keeping the team in the dark.

When the reporters flood in, and Auston is less than enthusiastic, the questions lead away from his goal (one he can barely remember getting, to caught up in the thought that Mitch wasn’t there to see it) to where his best friend is.

“Yeah I missed him out there, but it was a good game and a good win for the team.”

“Can you tell us anything more about why he didn’t play? And isn’t making an appearance in the locker room?”

Auston grabs at the back of his neck, and then decides to answer honestly, trying hard to keep the guilt out of his voice.

“No, not really. I don’t think anyone really knows much about why he couldn’t play, but we do that it wasn’t his choice and that he wanted to be here to cheer us on, so...”

The questions come harder after that, but so quickly turn back to hockey when one of the PR people inform the media that if they ask about Marner again they’ll be thrown out.

The media leaves, and Auston is left tugging his pads off slowly. Worry and dread churns in his stomach, making him nauseous. The team is milling around, tense. Some head to the showers, but Auston just stays at his stall, staring down at his socked feet.

It hasn’t really sunk in, or maybe it has, but Mitch is _missing_ , and he wouldn’t have been if Auston had just gone with him.

Or maybe they both would be missing, wherever Mitch is, but at least he wouldn’t be alone.

“Hey.” Patty drops down next to him, also stripped of his pads but not showered yet. “We’ll find him.” Auston nods, swallows hard and then has to press a hand to his mouth so he doesn’t throw up when his stomach drops to his toes, and it hits him, that Mitch is-

“I just-“ He starts then stops, glancing around the locker room nervously. Marty hasn’t said a word to him all day, but the glares he’d been receiving were more than enough to get him scared. Not that he thinks Marty would actually do anything, and not that Auston would let him, but he _knows_ okay? He knows that if something happened to Mitch, even if what he said wasn’t technically horrible (it feels like it was), it’s his fault. Mitch left the locker room because _he_ didn’t have the patience to deal with his excessive happiness. “It’s my fault.” He admits quietly, and Patty’s silence feels like he’s condemned.

“Come on, let’s go look again.” Auston freezes, and Patty pokes at his side until he moves. His skin feels racy like it did when he looked the first time. It’s like he could find him, and it’s adrenaline pumping under his skin for if he does. Pat walks with him down the hall, talking quietly about the game. Auston isn’t listening, walking while staring at his shoes. He’s not paying attention to where they’re going, instead wrapped up in his head, in the many scenarios going through his head.

If Mitch is okay he’s going to kill him. Flat out murder. To scare the team that much, to scare _him_....like it’s really only been about three hours, how much trouble could he get in?

A lot, if he knows Mitch at all. He once left him alone in a McDonalds for five minutes and when he came back in Marns was about to get arrested. Albeit it really was a huge misunderstanding, but still. Mitch is special like that.

It’s one of the first things Auston loved about him. The way he was so crazy about everything, how his nervousness gave him energy, how much he loved hockey. It was always so much, so _Mitch_ , and he made Auston wish he could be like that, be so open and brave. So easily himself around everyone.

And what does Auston do, but make Mitch feel like doing that is wrong. Like being Mitch, being everything that Auston loves him for, is wrong.

He doesn’t understand how it happens, but every time he tries to tell Mitchy how much he likes it, how much he likes _him_ , it always comes out wrong. It always hurts him. It always leads to fights.

He stopped trying. And today- today he was just so _frustrated_ and Mitchy was so _bright_ and Auston snapped.

And Mitch is-

“Hey, we gotta head back.” Auston blinks, and picks up his head. Patty walked him all he way to the around the locker room, some long convoluted route. They took a right out of the locker room, but now if they go through the double doors ahead they’ll be in the hallway to the left of it.

“Matty, you alright?” Auston blinks, not even realizing he’d stopped.

“Yeah, yeah I’m-“ Well he’s not _good_ so. “I’m gonna go back the long way.” Pat nods and gives him a small smile, like he knows that Auston isn’t okay, and he knows he can’t go back and face that locker room again. Not yet.

A horrible thought strikes him as Marleau leaves through the doors, and he’s left alone in the hallway.

He’s going to have to leave the arena. Without Mitch.

He sucks in a shaky breath, throat tight and eyes pricking hot with tears. How could this be _happening_.

_Crying isn’t going to help find Mitch_. He thinks angrily, and drags a hand down his face.

“Get it together Matthews.” He whispers out loud.

He gets maybe two steps down the hall, frustrated and worried but pulling it together, when he notices the door.

It’s a single hardwood, a knob instead of a handle. It looks like it hasn’t been opened or even noticed in a decade.

He stares at it, this perfectly inconspicuous door, and can’t make his brain work. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about it, except that it’s in a weird spot. Whatever closet it leads too would be right next to the showers.

He reaches forward, barely breathing, and closes his hand around the knob.

There’s nothing that stands out about it at all. Except that if he was looking for something - say, some tape - and checked all the _other_ rooms in the hallways-

Well, he might look in this closet too.

Before he can think about it, he turns the handle and pulls the door open.

The handle sticks a little and the door creaks so loud it sounds like a gunshot in the quiet hallway, but Auston can barely process it.

Not when Mitch tumbles out, limp as a rag doll in the same pregame clothes he left the locker room with.

Matthews freezes for exactly enough time to register three things - The red tint to any visible skin on Mitch, the heated air that rushes out of the room, and the way Mitch looks like he’s barely breathing.

It happens in less than a second, but Auston is on the ground the moment his muscles unfreeze and his brain gets with the program. He screams Mitch’s name as he drops to his knees, drags Mitch further out of the doorway, tugging his body towards himself.

To hot. His skin is putting off heat like a furnace, and Mitch barely moans when Auston shakes him.

“Hey, Hey Marns, you gotta wake up, c’mon.” He pleads, panicked and scared, voice shaking. He finds his hands tapping his friend's cheeks like he once saw a trainer do to an unconscious player, and some part of his brain that’s still working thinks it’s cool what the brain will absorb without consciously knowing it.  When Auston doesn’t get more than a moan, he shakes him, gasping, “Mitchy- Mitchy _please-_ “

He can’t move him. Not- not alone, Auston can barely breathe right now, he can’t carry Mitch, he can’t-

He _found_ him, he needs-

“Help!” Auston screams without consciously deciding to do so. “Someone help me! Someone-“ He trails off, trying to think of names, trying to get thoughts moving through the white static of panic in his head.

Mo. Freddie, Gards, Zach, Willy, Marty. _Patty-_

“Auston!”

It’s probably a gift from fate as that man rushes around the corner, coming behind him. He tenses, unconsciously shielding Mitch against the incoming footsteps.

“Holy shit-“ Another voice is shushed, or sent away, or something, but the next second Patty is crouched in from face calm but eyes screaming with worry.

“What happened?!”

“I- I don’t- he just- he’s too hot Patty, he won’t wake up, he won’t-“ Auston stammers out, still cradling Mitch in his arms. “ _I don’t know what to do_ -“

Pat shushes him, putting a palm across Mitch’s forehead. “It’s okay Auston. We can-“ He cuts himself off with a frown, taking in Mitch’s temperature and the way he’s breathing. The next second he’s tugging Mitch from Austin’s arms, picking him up with an arm under his knees and shoulders.

He looks so small in Patty’s arms, in the brief glimpse he gets before scrambling up and shoving open the doors so Patty can rush through them without trouble. The older man's face is stormy, lips pursed as he walks swiftly to the...locker rooms?

“W-why are we going to the-“

“We have to cool him down Matty.” Pat responds, voice intense but calm still, and they rush through the locker room to the showers, ignoring all the shocked and bewildered looks from teammates. Auston trails along after him, barely seeing anything but Mitch’s limp body, his head lolling against Patty’s arm.

They get to the showers which are mostly empty, everyone else having taken theirs already or just not in them. Patty rushes to the first one open, laying Mitch down gently, like he was made of glass and the slightest movement could break him.

There’s yelling- someone- a lot of people are yelling. Auston can’t move, his feet frozen to the spot as Patty wastes no time in stripping Mitch, literally ripping his clothes in an effort to do so. People appear next to him. Marty’s there, sliding to his knees with a bunch of towels. Mo comes in with a few ice packs. Vaguely he registers someone confirming they called an ambulance.

He’s still there, staring at Mitch’s lax face, watching as his eyes flutter open but nothing but gibberish comes out of his mouth. The ice packs are shoved under Marns armpits and on his...groin?

They turn the water on. It’s cold; shards of ice raining down onto Mitch’s prone body. The towels are soaked and wrapped around limbs and placed over his torso. Rolled up and tucked around his neck. Wrung out over his hair to get it wet.

And the whole time, Mitch is there, but not. He’s not smiling, not laughing it off, not even managing a chirp at the guys for looking so worried. He’s barely conscious, and his words not only don’t make sense but are also badly slurred. For some reason, Auston's brain was convinced that when he found his best friend (and he was always convinced that _he_ would find Mitch, no one else) it would be something stupid that kept him away. He’d smile and laugh and apologize sheepishly, and then chirp everyone for being so worried and put his arm over Auston's shoulders and say _Relax Matt’s, I forgave you ten minutes in. It’s not my fault you’re a 90 year old man inside._

Instead-

Instead, Mitch is barely able to move his head as he throws up, and Mo has to do it for him, Marty helping him roll his shoulders while he weakly coughs and chokes on bile.

“What’s wrong with him?” He chokes out, around the time the water in the drain starts getting tinted orange, and the guys start working on the sweatshirt tied around his arm.

It’s like they forgot he was there, the way Marty, Patty, and Mo snap their heads up. They quickly exchange a look, then Mo is shooting a look to someone behind him, and Auston is being tugged back by Hyms and Freddie.

“C’mon Aus.” Zach whispers and Auston shakes his head, but Freddie is insistent and Willy joins him, the two of them guiding him out of the showers.

He looks up as he stumbles, and sees the entire team, or most of, crowded at the entrance. Some are inside, and some are in the hallway, waiting for the ambulance. Willy and Fred just bustle him straight to the end of the locker room and make him sit down. One of them shoves a Gatorade in his hand, which he doesn’t even attempt to drink.

His feet are cold and his socks make a squelching sound whenever he puts weight on them. He tries to stand when the paramedics bring a stretcher in, but Gards is there instead, a hand on his shoulder to push him back down. His brain is scrambled, a mix of complete numbness and blinding panic. His heart is pounding in his throat when barely five minutes later they wheel Mitch out, nothing on him except his boxers, an oxygen mask, a shit ton of ice packs and a few soaked towels. Mitch’s head rolls limply as they turn the gurney, eyes fluttering to reveal the whites of his eyes.

Auston stands, just barely managing to push past Freddie to get closer. Something falls from the gurney- or from Mitch’s hand, the one not wrapped in gauze. He scoops it up before anyone can see it, not even registering what it is himself (just knowing that it was with Mitch, so it’s got to be important), and then he’s more focused on the solid wall of Morgan Rielly that’s stopping him. JVR and Bozie are there behind Mo, and there’s a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Wait- wait I need to go with him-“

“No, you don’t Matty.” Mo says gently, grabbing his arms when he tries to move around him. He can see Marty and Patty walking with the tail end of the gurney before they disappear from view.

“Okay well- well I’m going to the hospital-“

“Auston-“ Someone grabs his wrist - probably Willy who said his name - and he jerks away, breathing hard.

“I have to go.” He hisses, glaring at the worried faces that surround him. Willy and Gards are the worst, because they look genuinely scared, but then also _worried_ , and the problem is that they’re directing that worry to _him_ , not Mitch. The vets he can understand, because they’re concerned about everyone all the time, but when his friends are looking at him like he’s a wild animal, it sort of makes him feel like one.

“Auston there’s nothing you can do at the hospital.” Freddie explains slowly, and hell _no_ , he is _going_.

“I can be there for him.” He snaps back, backing up more. The team has dispersed, suspiciously absent from the locker room or still milling around the showers.

Morgan sighs, his shoulders dropping. Behind him, Hymie is staring at him with wide eyes and Willy looks like he sort of wants to throw up but also maybe sit down and never have to get up again. Possibly both. Gards is between Mo and them, and Brownie is off to the side, looking nervously between everyone. “Matty-“

“No-“

“ _Auston-_ ” Morgan snaps, taking a step forward and why the fuck don’t they get it?

“No!” He yells back, stepping back more. “I have to go-“

“Why?!”

“-it’s my fault!” Auston screams.

It goes dead quiet in the locker room. He hates it, hates it so much, his sins hanging out there for everyone to see. He’s probably never going to enjoy silence again. It’s always going to remind him of this.

He takes a deep breath. “He could _die_ Mo, and it’s my fault.” And when he says it, it’s a lot softer, but it feels just the same, it carves the same hole in his chest. Hyms looks at him weirdly, and that’s when he notices how he’s thrown his hands out to the side. He follows Hymies gaze to his hand, and that’s when he realizes what the object in his hand is.

The thing he picked up from the floor, that Mitch dropped?

A dusty roll of black stick tape.

Auston wants the throw up.

It’s quiet (he _fucking_ _hates_ quiet) as everyone stares at it. Then Mo tells him to get his stuff, and leaves no argument in the matter.

Auston stops arguing and does as he’s told. He still hasn’t showered but he’s not about to walk back into that shower room, so he just grabs his bag and shoves all his shit in there and then obediently follows Morgan out to his car. He sits in the back, buckles his seat belt, and numbly leans his head against the window.

They don’t go to the hospital. Auston feels like his hearts been cut out and there’s a lead balloon in his stomach, but he makes his legs move. They’re in someone’s house, Patty’s probably since it seems vaguely familiar. Gards shows up again, shoved him towards the bathroom, and he can’t even find it in him to joke about Jake being such a parent, not when his actions are the only thing keeping Auston functioning.

He takes a shower, or sits under the spray for a while, but by the time he walks out and realizes he’s got no clean clothes there’s a pile sitting on the closed toilet seat. Not his, but fucking huge, so they fit anyway.

Morgan guides him into the living room and shoves him on a couch, covers him with a blanket and tells him to stay.

Willy, Freddie, Brownie, and Hymie end up on the couch adjacent to his, and their quiet murmuring mixes with whatever movie is playing on the TV and send Auston into oblivion rather quickly.

A few hours later he’s pulled from sleep by Patty shaking his shoulder. His brain is muddy, thoughts stuck in a dark murkiness. Patty makes him stand up and helps him stumble to a bedroom on the ground floor of the house. He’s under the covers, sighing in relief as he gets to lay on something more comfortable. A few thoughts do connect though, because Patty went with Marty who went with the ambulance which took Mitchy-

“Mitch?” He asks, voice slurred with sleep.

“He’s going to be fine Aus.” Patty whispers back, and the huge knot in his chest loosens instantly. “Go back to sleep.”

Auston doesn’t need any encouragement.

\-----—-----

He wakes up with sunlight in his eyes and a raging headache that says he didn’t drink enough last night. He groans, aching muscles and stiff neck telling him just what they think about his impromptu nap on the couch and then the prolonged sleep on a bed way too soft for him.

There’s noise in the kitchen, voices that are familiar having a quiet argument that only bleeds through the door in tones, not words. He shuffles his way out of bed and across the room, only now taking in the sweatshirt and sweatpants that must be...Patty’s? (His first clue is the Sharks logo on both but they seem way too damn big for him, so who knows).

It’s just Patty, Mo, and Gards in the kitchen when he walks in, and they all stop talking dramatically when they see him.

“Um.” He croaks, then winces at the roughness of his voice. “Do you have any Tylenol?”

Patty nods. “I’ll get it. You should have a seat Matty.” He tilts his head towards the tall stools that are resting underneath the island the group was gathered around. Auston sort of wants to heed his advice, because he feels like he could fall over if he leans forward too much, but he also hates the idea of Patty _making_ him sit down, like he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

Morgan fixes him with a very dad-like look, and slides a glass of water across the counter.

He sits.

Pat comes back with some Excedrin which he downs along with the entire glass of water, and then Mo makes him drink another one before they talk.

“So-” He starts and is then shushed. He’s annoyed for about six seconds before Gards explains that the rest of them (Willy and Hymie, Freddie and Brownie went home) are still zonked out on the couches. He drops his voice to be right about a whisper. “-he’s okay then? Or he’s- he’s _gonna_ be okay right?” Auston finds his eyes flicking between Mo and Gards, looking for any signs of the contrary (Patty has too good of a poker face to give him any clues.)

“Marty and Bozie are at the hospital with him. Said he’s stable now.” Reilly answers, voice just as low, but Auston notices the evasiveness of the answer and narrows his eyes. “Stable _now_?” Auston repeats. “What happened with- what happened?”

Gards looks at Morgan who looks at Pat who sighs, and then rubs at his temple like he’s getting a headache. And then-

“He wasn’t coherent when they brought him in, if he was even awake. They gave him a muscle relaxant and basically put him in an ice bath, and then they had to- something with his wrist, Marty just said there was a lot of stitches and they’re thinking about a blood transfusion.”

“Oh.” He says weakly, suddenly finding the need to grip the counter so he doesn’t fall off the stool. “Oh. That’s- oh.”

“He’s gonna be fine Matty.” Pat is quick to reassure, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. Which, Auston certainly appreciates, because it helps the room stop spinning, but like- all that and he- what?

“He was locked in a thousand degree closet for three hours, was bleeding basically enough to warrant someone else blood being pumped into him, and he’s just going to be _fine_ ?!” He hisses back, tense. He’s not angry at them, he’s just- his brain is constantly looping ‘ _you did this, you did this, you did this’_ and he can’t hear that he- and Mitchy is-

“Yes.” Mo answers flatly. “Probably won’t play for a while though, heat exhaustion at the very least, combined with however long it’ll take for the cut on his arm to heal. But he’s...he’s going to get there.”  

He doesn’t like the way Mo says that like - like there was enough concern that Mitch _wouldn’t_ be able to play again that he felt the need to clarify that.

“A bunch of the guys were gonna go over and see him after practice, you wanna come?” Auston looks at Gards who, despite just speaking, is typing out something on his phone. There’s a soft noise from the living room, indicating someone waking up.

And all Auston can think about is how Mitch looked, so unnaturally still in Patty’s arms, so confused, so- so close to _dying-_

Because of him.

“No.” Auston says, and it’s harsh and it's loud and shatters the softness of the morning. “No, I want- I just want to go home.”

 


	2. Chapter Two

 

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming_

_Or the moment of truth in your lies_

_When everything feels like the movies_

_Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive_

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's meant to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

 

_\---------_

 

Mitch comes back and it’s to bright lights and loud voices and an all consuming misery that thrums through his veins. He’s sore like he just did bag skates all practice, his head is pounding so hard there’s tears running down his face, and his stomach is rolling.

 

In fact that’s what seems to wake him up, the painful spasms that he comes to realize are dry heaves, and that horrible choking noise is coming from him.

 

“-see his wrist. Mitchell? Are you with me?” There’s a voice above him- it’s- it’s talking to him-

 

He moans, because he _hurts,_ and it gets swallowed in another dry heave. “Mitchell I need to ask you a few questions, okay?”

 

He feels water on his skin. It burns, like alcohol down the back of his throat, but everywhere, touching all of him, more pain pouring on top of an already full bucket. He can’t do this-

 

“Mitch, have you taken any thing in the last twenty four hours, or do you _need_ to take something in the close future?”

 

-so tired, he doesn’t _understand_ , why, what are they saying-

 

“Mitchell, I need to you stay awake for me. Did you cut your wrist yourself?”

 

- _no,_ no this is wrong, this is-

 

“Mr. Marner can you hear me?”

 

.....

 

Mitch is floating. He’s...not back like before. That was- things are different, but it’s not before, it’s now, and he’s not dry heaving anymore. He doesn’t know why that’s important.

 

“...we’re going to start stitching your wrist okay Mitch? You’re numbed so you aren’t going to feel a thing.”

 

Mitch hums, because he feels like that needs to be acknowledges, and the noise awakens every goddamn pain receptor in his body and _oh my god_ he needs to go back to sleep _right now_ this is- he doesn’t want to go back to before, but he doesn’t like now either, and he wants that in between place, where it was dark.

 

“Mr. Marner? Are you with us?”

 

He’s wet and he’s cold and he’s sore and his head, god his head, he’s still crying, he just needs it to stop, just for a second, and then he can try and make sense of all this.

 

The darkness calls his name again. He goes willingly.

 

.....

 

It’s longer, the next time he’s back. Things don’t hurt as bad, and now he can at least recognize that he’s well, _back_ . And that being back is more like being _awake_ , and yeah that...sucks.

 

He’s in a bed now, thin scratchy sheets instead of the weird feeling of water on his skin. His muscles are so sore still, and his stomach _hurts_ , sharp shooting pains of a muscle being overused. Mitch's throat vehemently agrees with his stomach’s protests, but his _head_ , oh _god_ his head.

 

He can feel every pulse of blood, and that feeling is very much  like someone hitting him with a hammer (he actually knows what that feels like too - thanks Chris).

 

Opening his eyes is hard, but he does it anyway. Things slipping, and his eyes close almost immediately after (how rude of them, after Mitch spent all that effort and focus just see), but he gets enough to realize he must be in a hospital. It’s dark and it’s quiet, a dim light somewhere to his left and a person in a chair on his right.

 

Mitch knows it certainly isn’t Auston who fought last week and has scabbed knuckles.

 

Thoughts connect slowly, and startles awake again with a soft noise, head still grossly foggy. Marty’s head snaps up, and a relieved smile flits across his face. “Hey mouse.” He says softly. Mitch sighs, pretends to be annoyed before tilting his head to look around the room. Marty moves next to him. Mitch doesn’t really track it until there’s a straw at his lips and Matt Martin must be fuckin psychic or something, because water is exactly what he didn’t know he needed until it’s flooding his mouth.

 

“Thanks.” He croaks out, although it mostly sounds like “tb’nk’s”. Marty nods anyway, like he’s used to understanding Mitch gibberish.

 

He probably is, with the number of times he’s been around Mitch drunk (not often, to be honest, but Mitch knows that almost every time he’s gotten drunk Marty’s been there.)

 

(Which - _that's_ interesting.)

 

“-Mitchy? You with me?” Marty’s voice pulls him back to the room. He blinks slowly and the ceiling swims.

 

“I feel weird.” Mitch mumbles back, because he does, and he feels like maybe Marty can explain that to him. He can’t seem to bring his eyes down from the ceiling. It’s all still so floaty.

 

“You’re okay though.” He hums in response, eyelids drooping. Marty squeezes his hand. He squeezes back. “You’re okay Mitchy. You’re okay.”

 

....

 

The first day the guys visit, when Mitch is awake for real and can hold coherent conversations, he actually sees a lot of them - JVR join Bozie while Marty goes home for a little while, and then Willy, Zach, the Connors, Mo and Gards.

 

It’s exhausting, and he’s still very sore, but it makes him smile and he loves seeing the guy walk out of the room much less worried than they walked in.

 

What puts him on edge though, the longer the day goes by, is that there’s no Auston.

 

It plants a little seed of apprehension in his stomach, but he ignores it when he hears that Matts is the one that found him. Maybe he’s just - taking the day. To relax or something. No way he’s still angry at him.

 

The hospital gives him the option of leaving that night or staying over a little longer so they can make sure his wrist is doing okay. He would opt to go home - hospitals, for all the healing they’re supposed to do, are shitty places to sleep - but Mo and Marty give him a _look_ , and he quietly accepts the opportunity to stay another night.

 

When Patty comes the next morning with nothing but a bag of clothes in his hand, the seed takes root and sprouts into something more like nervous, gut churning fear. Mitch has always hated how he felt when he was fighting with his friends. He can’t hold a grudge to save his life - anger always felt like way to much work, and he was left with the want for things to go back to normal - it makes him the one who’s always apologizing.

 

“It’s just some stupid tape.” He mumbles while Patty helps him tug on a sweatshirt.

 

“What?” Patty asks, but Mitch just shakes his head and sticks his feet into a pair of slides. Patty squeezes his shoulder, electing a sigh out of Mitch. A nurse comes in with a few final things, he signs some paperwork, and wobbles his way out of the hospital under Pattys watchful eyes. The guys had morning skate, probably the only reason he doesn’t have an entourage of twenty hockey players. Yesterday’s practice had apparently become an optional skate, seeing how many guys didn’t go, but they play the Blues tonight, and Mitch is fine.

 

He’s sore, his head is pounding by the time they get to the car, his wrist is throbbing, and his best friend that he’s half in love with is angry at him. For...tape.

 

He’s fine.

 

He falls asleep on the car ride home, which is longer than he remembers, but Patty wakes him up and they’re parked in a garage that’s definitely not his. He doesn’t have a garage - he’s got a parking complex.

 

“Where- what?” He blinks up at the older man as Patty gently helps him from the passenger seat. The garage looks vaguely familiar as he blinks sleep from his eyes. “Why are we- well I mean you live here, but like I don’t Patty-”

 

“I am aware of that.” Patty deadpans, grabbing the bag from the back seat and leading the way to the door to the house. “It’s just for a few days Mitch.” He steers Mitch into the kitchen once inside, gives him a very dad-like look. “And you don’t have to if you don’t want to. We just thought it would be better than having your mom come up, and she basically threatened to castrate half the team if we left you alone in your apartment.”

 

“ _We_ .” Mitch repeats, but doesn’t elaborate, letting himself chew on the information. It’s extremely likely that his mom didn’t just _basically_ threaten the team, she probably called Matt and Morgan and Patty just to yell at them - and god knows what she said to Auston. He wonders if Auston would’ve taken her call, since he’s so mad at Mitch. It makes him naseaus just to consider that scenario - his mom loves Auston, Auston loves his mom. Auston’s even told him repeatedly how much he loves Mitch’s mom (normally in the form of a chirp to Mitch, but still). “We as in - what did you guys do, vote in the group chat whose house I was going to stay at?”

 

Patty just- just _looks_ at him, and Mitch-

 

“Fuck you.” He snarls, words he’d have never thought he’d be able to say to Patty. “Fuck whatever- whatever the hell this is! I play in the fucking NHL I don’t need a goddamn babysitter!”

 

Patty of course, the ever patient father of four, doesn’t get angry at Mitch like he wants him too. He just sighs. “Mitch-”

 

“No! This is- what are you going to do if I want to leave? Put me back in the hospital? I got overheated and I have a paper cut on my wrist, not a TBI, not a fucking stroke, I don’t need you to treat me like I’m five-”

 

“That isn’t what I’m doing-”

 

“It _is_ what you’re doing!!” Mitch yells, a little voice in the back of his head is telling him that of all the moves he could be doing, this one is very very wrong. He’s just- he’s scared, he’s really, really scared, and it’s forcing anger and frustration to drive his words so he doesn’t break down in front of this guy who swooped into his life and became such a great mentor to him.

 

“We- I just want to make sure you’re _okay-_ ” Patty’s voice matches his with intensity but not volume and there’s edges of surprise and shock in his expression. That’s fair, Mitch supposes. He’s never sworn at Patty, and he’s never yelled at him either.

 

“I _don’t care_ !” He snaps back. “I _don’t_ need this and I _don’t_ need _you!”_  The words feel heavy and wrong as they fall from his lips. He doesn’t mean that, he doesn’t, but then Auston’s annoyed face flashes in his mind and his words ring in his ears and Mitch is shoving himself off the stool, ignoring the painful twinge in his wrist as he does so.

 

Patty reaches for him, but he’s already backing out of the kitchen. “Mitch _wait-_ ”

 

“No just- just leave me alone!” He flings back, angry and defeated.

 

He walks to the front door and slams the door shut behind him.

 

Patty doesn’t follow.

 

\--------------------------

 

There’s a park by the Marleau’s house that they’d occasionally go to with the boys. A small pond is at one end, and gentle sloping grassy hills surround it. The pond isn’t frozen, won’t be for a while more, but the leaves are changing and the grass is starting to die a little with the cool weather. It big, and there’s a lot of little paths, some paved around the pond and the edge of the park, some packed dirt that crawl through the close trees that are clustered together in different spots.

 

It takes him a while a to get there, and his feet hurt from walking so far in just a pair of old Nike slides, but he walks anyway, because two minutes after leaving Patty’s house his anger leaves him, and he’s filled with the full horror of what he said.

 

He told Patrick Marleau to fuck off. After said person had opened his home to Mitch, his home with four boys and his wife, his already busy and hectic life cluttered more by Mitch, his one private section of his life to a teammate.

 

Mitch knows that Patty was - is - just trying to help him. He knows that Patty cares about him and cares about what happens to him, and that isn’t something instilled in him because of Mitch’s mom. He knows that what he did was fucked up and wrong and it was him lashing out and that’s great and all that hes realized that, but it doesn’t change what he did; it doesn’t take back his words.

 

He walks and walks and walks, and doesn’t let himself stop until he gets to the park where he finds a trail that winds deep into the largest group of woods. There he finds a big oak tree, leaves turned red, and he sits on the ground and _sobs_.

 

He was so scared, trapped in that room. He didn’t let himself feel it, acknowledge it, nothing. He just kept telling himself he’d be fine and someone would find him. Never let himself acknowledge the fears, the terror, the little voice that wondered if someone would find him while he was still alive.

 

He was so scared, and the thing he held onto, was that that the team - that _Auston_ \- was looking for him. Cared about him. Was worried about him. They found him, just like he told himself they would.

 

It’s just that now - now when he has the relief of being _alive -_ does he have to deal with Auston’s anger and his own fear. He’s right - Mitch wouldn’t have gotten in this situation, wouldn’t have lost hockey for god knows how long if he’d just asked someone for tape, or brought his own, or been a fucking adult about it and asked someone else.

 

He’s so mixed up with everything, to the point where he doesn’t even know why he’s crying - he just know it hurts. He pulled that shit with Patty which makes him want to go jump off a bridge in shame and embarrassment. Auston’s mad at him, and he has every right to be because Mitch is immature and an idiot. The team cares about him enough to have actual conversation about who should take care of him, which Mitch both really appreciates and loves them for, but then also feels guilty about because they _shouldn’t have to._ Mitch is supposed to- to be an adult.

 

He isn’t supposed to be emotional. He isn’t supposed to get all hurt over something as small as what Auston said. And he isn’t supposed to love his teammate either. His team isn’t supposed to have to take care of him.

 

It’s sort of new, this whole revelation that he wants to be with Auston, but at the same time it’s really not. No one makes him happier, and no one else has ever made him so afraid of losing their friendship when they fight. He’s so - so _different_ , but so like Mitch in some ways, and Mitch has been following after him since they met, doing everything he can to be there for him, whether it’s hockey or advice or companionship. If Auston called, Mitch came running.

 

He knows he’s always been clingy, but with Auston, it was a constant push pull of wanting to talk to him all the time and also being afraid that Auston would get so annoyed with him that he’d never talk to Mitch again. He tried to be happy, to love who he was, and to share that with him, with the team.

 

And really, the reason he’s so scared still, isn’t just that he’s screwed up with Auston - it’s fear that what Auston said, what Auston feels - is shared by the team. How annoying must it be, to play professional hockey and have to babysit one of your teammates all the time?

 

It just feels like he’s messed up everything _so bad,_ and he doesn’t know how he got to here, crying in the woods with stitches in his wrist and no one to tell him it’ll be okay.

 

The sun dips lower, and Mitch shivers. He should go back, even if it’s just to get his stuff. If he never fixes things with Auston and the team, at least he can apologize to Patty.

 

The walk home feels like it takes years (Was it always this far? It felt like it took barely twenty minutes to get to the park), and when he finally starts to recognize some of the houses it’s late enough that he’s probably missed Patty leaving for the game. His body is doing it’s best to remind him that he overdid it, head pounding and muscles complaining loudly while he limps up the concrete steps to their front door. There’s blisters on his feet from walking in slides all day.

 

The lights are on in the living room when he knocks, concerned voices having a conversation hush instantly. There’s footsteps to the door, heavy. Mitch wraps his arms around himself, shivering regularly now in the cool air.

 

Patty opens the door. Mitch only knows because he’s staring at his shoes, and those are the same brown dress shoes that him and Auston used to chirp Patty about (his ‘old man’ shoes). He shifts his weight, and feels like he wants to throw up. Maybe Patty won’t even let him in.

 

Then he’s being enveloped in a bone crushing hug right as Christina yells, “Is it him?!”

 

“God, Mitchy I was so worried.” Patty murmurs and Mitch almost starts crying into his suit.

 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers back, and there’s a quick patter of feet before Patty is being pushed out of the way and strong, lithe arms are replacing his. Mrs. Marleau pulls back after barely a second, and her hands hold his face, making him look up at her face. He doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but he hates to think of what she might find there.

 

Her thumb traces across his cheek, and it’s only then he realizes he’s tearing up again. “Oh you stupid, stupid boy. This wasn’t your fault.” Her voice is soft, and it makes his heart ache. He wants to tell her everything, but when he opens his mouth the words stick in his throat. She yanks him into a hug again, and he does cry here, shaking with silent pain.

 

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

 

He repeats it like it’s the only thing he knows how to say, and maybe, right now, it is. He says it again and again and again until he’s hoarse, and every time she shushes him and tells him _it’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry for Mitch_ , _you did nothing wrong._

 

Patty has to leave soon, but he tells Mitch that they’re talking when he gets back, so Mitch lets himself get led to the couch by Christina once he’s cried out and from then on the night is one of good food, shitty TV shows, and general affection that he doesn’t deserve.

 

It’s hours later that Patty comes back, the boys having eaten and gone to bed relatively quietly once Chris told them Mitch wasn’t feeling good. He’s on the couch still, under a billion blankets and groggy from drifting in and out of sleep all night when Patty sits next to him and sighs. He’s still got his tie on.

 

“Alright Mitch. Let’s talk.”

\-------------

 

The game is, frankly, a fucking disaster.

 

Auston’s head isn’t there at all. To be honest, it took everything he had just to leave his apartment on time, because he basically had a panic attack when he realized that he couldn’t text Mitchy to ask who would drive. Because Mitch was at Patty’s house, his overtaxed system sleeping off pain meds.

 

All because Auston can’t shut his mouth, and it got Mitch hospitalized.

 

Right. That.

 

It’s ironic, in the way that you don’t really ever realize how much you need something until it isn’t there anymore. And without Mitch, the team crumbles like a fucking jenga tower.

 

_You pull out one block…_

 

Babs yells at them, which makes sense because there’s not really an excuse for _all_ of the lines not to be clicking, especially when they were fine in morning skate. Auston thinks maybe the team is more rattled than they thought, because there was a moment, right before they were about to go on the ice, where it was dead quiet. No one was laughing, or smiling, or pumped for the game, and that silence felt like an accusation to Auston. Everyone else seemed to realize  what was missing, seemed to really remember what it was like seeing Patty burst through the locker room doors with Mitch limp and unresponsive in his arms. What it was like to think he was dead, or dying.

 

Auston took comfort in the fact that he _wasn’t_ , and was in fact, safe at the Marleau’s home probably having a movie marathon with the kids.

 

Then Patty drops down next to him with very heavy eyes and asks if they can talk.

 

Which is how Auston finds himself in his game day suit sitting in a conference room, exhausted and discouraged with Mo, Marty, Zach and Patty.

 

Patty who paints a very horrifying picture with his words.

 

“Well that’s- that’s fucking dumb!” Auston sputters at the end, because what else is there to say about Mitch apparently thinking he’s a burden on the team or something equally stupid.

 

Is it stupid though, if Auston’s the one who made him think that?

 

“Yeah.” Marty sighs from across the table. “Is he okay now?” He asks, referring to the part where Mitch disappeared for five or so hours.

 

Patty nods. “Christina is taking care of him, just told the boys he was sick. Last update I got was that she got him to take his meds and he’s passed out on my couch.”

 

“And you’ll talk to him when you get home.” Mo confirms, fingers tapping on the table. He’s planning something. “What do you need us to do though? Mitch doesn’t get this bothered easily - and while I acknowledge that it was a traumatic experience, I don’t think that’s really what’s going on here.” The blond turns his eyes to Auston. “Have you talked to him?”

 

The thought makes his skin run cold. “No.”

 

“Why not?”

 

He picks at his fingernails. ‘ _Because if I wasn’t such a piece of shit he never would’ve left the locker room in the first place, and he never would’ve gotten hospitalized, and he never would’ve lost hockey for who knows how long, and he wouldn’t think that the team sees him as an incapable child who doesn’t deserve to be in the same room as them.’_

 

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.” Is what he responds instead. There’s a very distinct lack of conversation afterwards, and the silence feels heavy. He hates quiet.

 

“Did he tell you that?”

 

“Does it matter? I don’t see how this helps the rest of you help him.” He knows Mitch, and he knows how little Mitch thinks of himself sometimes. When Marns lets those insecurities in his head, they stay there and fester, unless there’s repeated proof of the opposite (take the fact that he was convinced Auston hated him for the first six months of their friendship as evidence.)

 

He looks up in time to see Marty shut his mouth after a look from Mo, so he was definitely about to get shit for that, but at least he made a good enough point. “I think Patty was just catching us up.” Zach speaks for the first time since they walked in. “I’ll talk to Willy, Mo maybe you should catch some of the other guys, probably not tell them everything but I think the best bet would just to watch out for him. From what Patty said, anything we do that’s even remotely overbearing is going to reinforce this idea in his head - and also make him really angry, apparently, so we have to be careful of that. I’ve seen angry Mitch, it’s not pretty. However he _does_ need to know this wasn’t his fault - it wasn’t _anyone's_ fault - it was just an accident. A set of bad circumstances mixing together.”

 

Auston drops his eyes again as Zach looks at him pointedly.

 

Whatever. He still isn’t going to see Mitch.

 

(Willy and Zach both freaked out on him when they found out that he hadn’t seen Mitch since the incident and like - Mitch doesn’t want to see him, so why would Auston force him into a situation that Mitch can’t get out of?)

 

“Great.” Marty sighs. “What a shit show this is gonna be.” It seems to be the unofficial end to the their unofficial meeting, and everyone shuffles, quiet and tense. Auston doesn’t bother saying goodbye to any of the guys, just puts his headphones in and starts walking down the hallway, intent getting home as fast as possible so he can sleep for twelve hours and forget about dealing with all this.

 

Someone catches his arm right before he reaches the door to the stairwell, and he whips around to see Willy, who was waiting for Zach. He pulls out an ear bud, rudely interrupting the opening chords of Interstellar.

 

“What?” His tone is a little more snappish than normal, but he’s _stressed_ , okay. Not only is he responsible for putting his best friend in the hospital, he also managed to convince said best friend that he’s an unworthy child of whom the team doesn’t like.

 

Which is so fucking _wrong_ , he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over the absurdity of it. Mitch is the most likable guy on the team in his opinion, he’s so fucking happy all the damn time and he’s so good with people and like - like Mitch is the person that cheers up the guys after a crushing loss, and he’s the one that listens when people want to talk and talks when they want to listen and he can be quiet and trustworthy and a great friend, but then loud and bright and happy and his smile makes everyone else want to smile and he just - he’s so stupidly pure, sometimes Auston wants to yell at him for ever going to into a sport like hockey.

 

He hears the shit said to Mitch on the ice and listens to the silence when Mitch says nothing back and thinks _\- You’re too good for this. For them, for me, for all of us._

 

And now somehow Marns thinks the exact opposite.

 

“Are you going to talk to him?” Willy ask, bringing Auston back to the present.

 

“No. I told you, and I told Patty, and I’ll tell you again - if he wants to talk to me, then he’ll reach out. Otherwise I’m not forcing interaction between us, not when it would just make everything worse.” Willy narrows his eyes, but lets go of his arm.

 

“You don’t know that he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

 

“Did he ask for me at any point during the hospital? Because if he did I sure as hell didn’t hear about it. He hasn’t texted me or called me or said a word to Patty about me, I know when I’m not wanted.”

 

“No.” Willy admits. “But that’s not what- that isn’t what this is, okay-”

 

“ _Leave it_ , Nylander.” Auston snarls back. “I don’t blame Mitch for any of it.”

 

Willy actually takes a step back when Auston says his last name, but he doesn’t drop it. “No, you blame yourself.” He sighs. “Matts this is- he clearly isn’t mad at you!”

 

“You don’t know that. And even if you did, it still doesn’t mean he wants to talk to me. I’m not forcing him into a situation that he can’t get out of.” He tugs his coat up higher and puts his head phones back in. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

\---------

 

He does actually see Willy the next day, it being a game day after all, but he doesn’t say a word. In fact he doesn’t say a word to almost any of the guys, only answering questions that are directed at him and about hockey. He probably looks like a robot on the ice, but then, well, there’s not enough in him to care.

 

They win anyways, so it’s fine.

 

They have a short roadie, which means everyone climbing on board a plane right after, and it also mean Auston has to deal with the distinct Mitch shaped hole in the team once again, as he doesn’t travel with them. Auston may complain about Mitch being too clingy, but he knows himself. It’s the lack of Mitch weight, pressed into his side with his head on Auston’s shoulder that keeps him awake for the flight, not stress or over tiredness.

 

The trip passes in a blur after that. The only times he really feels like he’s there is when something happens, or is said, or there’s a silence in team conversation, and it’s where Mitch is _supposed_ _to be_ , but _isn’t_.

 

It’s...weird. In a way, its sort of gratifying, to know that the team cares about Mitch that much. But it also turns his chest cold when he turns to Mitch to say something, and he’s not there. More than once he catches Willy scanning the locker room out of habit, before realizing that there’s no Mitch to show whatever he has on his phone. Marty seems distinctly off balance, his main chirping material gone, along with the personality that used to fill up the space around him. Patty is quiet and checks his phone a lot. JVR and Bozie are more secluded, Mo is concerned about everyone all the time (even more than normal.) Auston sees Zach staring off at Mitch’s empty stall for way to long a period of time, and it takes Gards actually snapping his fingers in front of Hymie’s face to get him focused again.

 

And Auston? Well. Auston just exists. He plays and shows up on time and does everything he’s supposed to do, but he does it without actually being there.

 

It’s not that it feels like he died or anything. It’s just that every time they go to do something, and it’s disrupted by Mitch’s absence, they’re reminded all over again of the fear and worry of when Mitch disappeared. They’re reminded of the fact that he _could’ve_ died, they’re reminded of the _what if’_ s, of the things they could’ve done to stop it all from happening.

 

It’s also a very startling wake up call to how much _space_ Mitch takes up. This isn’t just a few guys who were close to him feeling a little down because their friend is injured - this is the entire team, at at least one point in their routine, being knocked off balance by the _lack of Mitch Marner._

 

They win and they lose and Auston doesn’t feel any difference between them, and then they’re back home, and it’s been an entire week since he pulled Mitch out of that closet. The press is _still_ swarming about what happened - you have a team that basically lost a player, and then suddenly that player is out with injury and hasn’t been seen since - it’s going to drive Toronto crazy in speculation.. Auston’s seem some wild, wild stories, some ranging from simple hazing all the way to Mitch being kidnapped. He had to exit out of the latter before he could get past the title, because his chest got really tight really fast just at the _idea_.

 

 _‘You found him, he’s safe, he’s okay._ ’ becomes his mantra.

 

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t get to talk to Mitch at any point either, because Mitch still hasn’t texted him and he’s standing by his resolve not to put Mitch in a situation he can’t get out of.

 

Which is what leads him to sitting in his apartment, on his couch, alone, in the dark with a bag of not diet plan approved watermelon Sour Patch, watching his trash TV and wallowing in self pity. Normally, Mitch would be over. Normally, he’d be getting his ass beat in Fortnite. Normally, Mitch would’ve eaten the entire bag of candy by now and then produced several packs of skittles from who knows where and downed those too, and normally, Auston could look forward to several hours from now when Mitch’s sugar high would’ve worn off and he would look over to see Marns passed out on the couch, soft and peaceful and young.

 

It’s not normal though. And its not normal because of Auston and his stupid words.

 

Not normal has a way of surprising him, however, and he’s debating making dinner or just going to bed despite it being fucking six o’clock or something, when there’s a knock on his door.

 

He turns off the TV and turns on the kitchen light, slowly padding his way to the door to look through the peephole.

 

Oh what the hell.

 

He drops down from his toes, and rests his forehead against his door. His heart rate speeds up, and he doesn’t know if it’s related to the weight in his stomach or if it’s because the scenario he’s been hoping for has maybe-sorta-possibly happened.

 

He’s been telling himself for the last week and a half that he’d only talk to Mitch if Mitch reached out to him, so why is he so reluctant to open the door?

 

Twisting the knob and swinging open the heavy wood feels like a much larger decision than it should.

 

It isn’t until he’s staring at him - gazing over the small body of his friend, strong and steady and healthy - does Auston realize that this is the first time he’s seen him since The Accident. “Marns?”

 

Mitch snaps his head up, and god if Auston doesn’t want to kiss him. His skin is back to the right color, not that unnatural redness that he last saw it, and his eyes have that spark back. Auston never realized how relieving it could be just to see _coherence_ in someones eyes.

 

“Hey Matts.” Mitch replies softly, hands stuffed into the pockets of an over sized Knights Hoodie. “Can I come in?”

 

Idly, Auston thinks that's the first time in the history of ever that Mitch has actually _asked_ to come in to his space. “Is Patty- like did he drive you? I don’t want to keep him waiting if- that’s- if you- um, if this takes a while.” He huffs at the end, rolling his eyes at himself. _So_ smooth. The Smoothest, Auston Matthews is.

 

Mitch looks distinctly uncomfortable.“Well I- uh- Patty doesn’t actually know that I’m here. Um. No one does?” He stammers it out as if it’s a question, and it takes Auston a second to realize that Mitch thinks Auston might send him away because of it.

 

(And like, there’s a part of him that screams that he should, because Patty _will_ kill him for not telling him where Mitch is while Mitch is under his watch, and JVR and Bozie would do clean up and help bury his body, and Mo would give a very nice eulogy, and Marty would probably set fire to his gravestone.)

 

(There’s also a part of him that’s doing a fucking jig at the fact that Mitch went through so much effort _just to see Auston_.)

 

Auston swallows hard but steps back. “I don’t know, this feels to much like Romeo and Juliet. Stop hanging around Zach so much, he’s corrupting you.” It’s a stupid chirp, but it’s worth it just to see the smile cross Mitch’s face.

 

“Shakespeare is one of the greatest storytellers of all time, you uncultured peasant.” Mitch sniffs  haughtily as he walks into the apartment. Auston shuts the door and winces at the loudness of it. Mitch doesn’t instantly zoom to the couch, and it makes his chest feel cold. He _knows_ that Mitch isn’t here for a normal hangout, that this is something much more serious and big and if Auston doesn’t have a panic attack by the end of it it’ll be a miracle, but _seeing_ it makes it _real_.

 

“So-”

 

“You-”

 

Auston ducks his head and leans back against the kitchen counter. “You first.” Mitch looks at him weird, dark eyes searching Auston’s.

 

“Patty talked to me.” Mitch starts, eyes still scanning over Auston, looking for something, a reaction maybe or just- something.

 

“He said he would.” Auston responds.

 

Mitch’s eyes narrow. “So you guys _did_ talk about me.”

 

“Well- yeah Marns, we were- _are_ worried about you. Not because we think you can’t take care of yourself!” Auston hurries to explain when Mitch’s expression gets dark. “We just - it was really traumatic okay? And for a bunch of emotionally stunted hockey players the team is like a mass of mother hens, and literally there were almost fights over who’s house you’d stay at, but not in a bad way Mitchy, more because we care about you and we really _needed_ to make sure you’d be okay.” Auston cuts himself off, ending the ramble before he can dig himself deeper. His hands are suddenly gripping the counter way to tight.

 

Mitch just sighs, deflating a little. “Yeah. That’s uh- that’s what Patty said. And then also what Marty said when I talked to him, and then Mo when I talked to _him_ and like-” Mitch finally removes his hands from his pockets, and used his good hand to fiddle with a cast on his opposite arm. Auston finds his eyes glued to the motion. “-like I don’t know if they told you, um, they just- I’m basically going off of what Willy said here, so maybe I’m getting this really wrong but- you’re- um.” Mitch takes a deep breath, and looks like he’s bracing himself for something. “Are you mad at me?”

 

 _What._ Auston’s mind blanks out for a few seconds, because that is _not_ something he ever expected to come out of Mitch’s mouth. He expected swears and anger and accusation. Not fear.

 

“What?!” Auston responds loudly, eyes wide to match his shock. “That’s- _what?!_ How could you- _why_ would you think that?”

 

Mitch just looks confused, but there’s a hint of relief on his face. “Well….you didn’t-  after, in the hospital, and then you never even texted me and like I’d get it if you were still mad-”

 

Auston’s heart drops to his toes. “ _Mitchy_.” He chokes out. “I- I’m sorry. What I said was stupid and like- this isn’t your fault you know that right? I don’t blame you for this, nobody does, it was just a stupid accident.”

 

He blinks, registering his own words. Well that's...new.

 

Mitch laughs, and it doesn’t sound happy. “So- so what you just-” He shrugs, and there’s a glassiness to his eyes and pain on his face.

 

Pain and tears that Auston put there.

 

“You just decided that we weren’t going to be friends anymore? You don’t blame me, but maybe you realized I’m too _childish_ to hang around? Was me almost _dying_ in a fucking closet what you needed? Gave you the perfect out didn’t it, to just stop talking to me.” Auston can feel the blood drain from his face, because _no, that’s not true,_ and he feels like he can’t breath when he thinks about not being friends with Mitch anymore.

 

“No- no that’s not- that’s not what happened, that’s not-”

 

Mitch’s brow furrows, anger plain in his figure. “Then- then what the hell is it?! What is so wrong with me that you-”

 

“Nothing is wrong with you!” Auston growls out. The fact that Mitch thinks so is disgusting to Auston. “It’s me okay? It’s always been me.”

 

“What the hell does that mean?”

 

“It means I don’t understand how you can like me!”

 

Auston’s breath catches in his throat and he takes a step back as he realizes what he just said. Mitch looks like he’s caught between being about to cry and wanting to walk out.

 

Shit.

 

“Matts, what…” Mitch’s voice is soft. Auston hates it.

 

“Do you think that I forget about all the times I’ve hurt you? Do you think I can forgive myself as easily as you forgive me?” He matches Mitch’s tone, only because it doesn’t make sense for him to be screaming these words out, even though he thinks maybe that would help him feel less like a piece of shit.

 

They’re true, anyway.

 

Mitchy just _looks_ at him, and his face is all soft and caring and it melts the block of ice that’s been in his chest since he first realized he was into his best friend. “Matty, friends fight and that’s normal. I’ve said some shitty things to you too.”

 

Auston shakes his head. This is- wrong. So wrong. Mitch is the one who got hurt and who went through a traumatic experience and yet somehow it’s _Auston_ that’s being comforted. He scrambles to think of one of their- of _his_ many regretted one liners. Something to remind Mitch just how shitty a person Auston can be. “I told you that if you were just a little better at hockey, maybe we wouldn’t lose so much. I’m the one who started the idea that you weren’t good enough - _I_ put that in your head. Because I was _scared_. Do you realize how shitty of a person that makes me? Actually I know you don’t, because if you did you’d never talk to me again, and honestly I think maybe you should do that, because-”

 

“ _Auston_.” Mitch snaps.”Shut up.”

 

“Okay.” Auston croaks.

 

“First of all - I’ve been struggling with that since my dad first looked at me with disappointment in his eyes. You _know_ that, because I’ve told you.” Mitch’s voice sounds heavy and thick, like it always does when he talks about his dad. Auston’s hands clenched into fists just at the thought of Mitch’s father, the piece of shi- “Second - if you think I wasn’t mad at you all those times, you and Marty should really sit down for tea or something. I don’t actually know how Marty can even look at you without fighting you, considering all the times I’ve ended up at his house just to yell about how fucking idiotic you were. And third, I’ve said shit too - we didn’t talk for two months last year because we were _both_ angry at each other because we _both_ were arguing. I can’t make you forgive yourself or whatever, but I’m not holding it against you either.”

 

“Right.” Auston murmurs, and rubs as his eyes. This is a lot of _heavy_ and not enough of the _light_ that his brain expects from Mitch. The urge to run rears its ugly head once more, a need to get out, to stop the emotion that’s making it so hard to breath. “So- yeah good talk.”

 

Mitch blinks at him, then drops his gaze to the floor. Shuffles his feet. Fidgets with his sweatshirt some more.

 

Auston sighs. “Was that _not_ a good talk?”

 

Mitchy glances at him, looking nervous. “So- Willy also said- well other stuff. And at first I thought he was fucking with me, and, you know, not cool, so I was really pissed at him. But then I sorta also talked to Zach and Patty, and they basically backed him up, so- but then you just said it was an accident so maybe not-”

 

“Mitchy-”

 

“Do you blame yourself?” Mitch blurts, and Auston can’t do anything but stare at him and hope this conversation will end soon or maybe the floor will open up and swallow him so he doesn’t have to be here.

 

“Do you?” He (somehow) answers back evenly.

 

Mitch, the fucking bastard, raises his chin and meets his gaze. “I did - I mean, all I had to do was ask any of the twenty other people in the room for tape. Then I’d never have gotten locked in that fuckin closet. I wouldn’t have fucked up my wrist. I wouldn’t be out. But Patty’s been telling me like every other minute that it isn’t my fault, and it was just a series of unfortunate events, and like _no_ , the rest of the team doesn’t see me as incompetent four year old, and _yes_ , they still like me, and all that, but _you-”_ He sticks out a finger to point at Auston. “You are the only one who I honest to god believe is still mad at me.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Sure.” Mitch agrees, shifting his weight as he stands in the middle of Auston’s kitchen. He tilts his head to the side, eyes still on Auston (those fucking eyes, they’re maybe the first thing that Auston feel in love with, the way they can be kind and solid and reassuring and serious and they can _hold_ Auston, make him feel grounded and lost at the same time). “But you’re mad at yourself. Which is dumb.”

 

“No stupider than you thinking the team doesn’t like you.” Auston retorts.

 

“More stupid.” Mitch mutters.

 

“Seriously, stop hanging out with Zach.” Auston snaps back.

 

It gets Mitch to smile at least. Auston’s face flames when he feels warmth bloom in his chest at the sight of it.

 

“So then- if you’re so intent on telling me it was an accident - and I’ve literally had an entire week to do nothing but figure this out, so don’t even try doing that deflection bullshit - what are you mad about? Because if it’s still this ‘not good enough for me’ bullshit, then like we went over that. But also I can revisit that point in the lecture if it’s needed.”

 

He should tell him. He should- he’s been feeling this since three months after they met, he should-

 

He’s a coward.

 

“I can’t- It’s not that simple, Mitchy.” He pleads.

 

Mitch gazes at him, and his face changes in the same way it does when he finally figures out a play. “Earlier you said you were scared. You said that you said that stuff because you were scared. Scared of what?”

 

“Losing you.” Auston replies weakly. His throat feels tight, tongue heavy in his throat. Mitch’s face crumples, and Auston feels like he’s doing something wrong here, like he’s cheating Mitch out of words he needs to hear, but hurting him at the same time.

 

“Aus.” Mitch whispers, looking at him with something like- like pity or worry or _something_ , there’s so many emotions on Mitch’s face it’s hard to tell. It’s wrong. So many parts of this conversation is wrong but so, so right, and Auston just needs to _do it_. Rip the band aid off. Take the plunge. He’s gone this far and like he just needs to-

 

“I lo-” Auston’s breath catches in his throat. He can’t get the words out. “I lo- You’re so- I-” He shuts his mouth with a groan of frustration, hands coming up to pull at his hair. Why is it always _so hard to talk to him._ He closes his eyes and blows a breath out of his nose. Inhales again.

 

 _Fuck it._ “I have feelings for you.” He blurts out, and then can’t seem to stop. “I have like - not bro feelings for you, and I’ve had for a while, and literally every fight we’ve had is because I’ve tried to tell you about those feelings, but then I get too stressed, and I get angry at myself and it comes out wrong and really I just take my anger out on you, and it’s not fair and I hate it.”

 

Auston doesn’t dare look up now. He’s literally shaking, waiting for the rickety bridge he just built with Mitch to burn down under his feet.

 

Footsteps, and Auston is about to sob, thinking that Mitch is leaving, but then there’s a hand on his arm, calloused skin against his bare wrist. He gasps at the contact, not realizing that he’d been holding his breath in the first place.

 

“Good news.” Mitch says, voice low. Auston is hyper aware of how close they are. He can feel the breath from Mitch’s words on his neck, feel how Mitch’s hand is shaking against his.

 

He drags his gaze up, and finds himself almost nose to nose with Mitch. Mitch, who’s not angry or sad or pitying or _confused_.

 

Mitch, who smiles at him, and says, “Me too.”

 

\----------------------------------------

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have,,,zero idea what the protocol would be if a member of an NHL team suddenly went missing while inside the stadium, so if anyone does know, and this is horrendously and outrageously incorrect, I apologize, I'm not that well versed in hockey protocol I guess. 
> 
> Also, I tried to get this as medically accurate as possible, shout out to my little group of medical personnel who had to deal with me bombarding them with questions.
> 
> And like...yeah all he needed was tape. SO. That.
> 
> Part two? Prequel? More?


End file.
